


Cognate- Steve

by WanderingAlice



Series: Anagnorisis [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Major Illness, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's known Bucky most of his life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cognate- Steve

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a major series based off of the Winter Soldier, one that kicked the worst case of writer's block I've had in years. Cognate follows Steve and Bucky from the time they meet until the day they leave for the war. Part one is all from Bucky's view, while part 2 is the same story from Steve's point of view. It is not necessary to read both, or either, to understand the rest of the story, but events mentioned here will be referenced in part in later works in this series.
> 
> For the most part, I've tried to keep it cannon-compliant with the films and the tie-in comics, but I've fudged the dates a little bit for when they meet.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Steve Rogers met Bucky Barnes in the middle of a fight. Just days before, some older kids from Tenth Street had beat up little Kevin, the newest boy in the orphanage, for his pocket change. Now they had cornered Steve, and he wasn’t going to let them get away with it. Every time they punched him, he stood right back up. Sure, he was getting beat up pretty bad, but he wasn’t doing too badly for himself. His mother had always told him- “Every time they knock you down, you stand right back up, Steve. That’s how you win. Never let anybody tell you no.” He had to admit, though, that their punches were starting to hurt quite a bit, and the tight feeling in his chest was making it hard to breathe.

That was when a new kid arrived, coming in swinging. The bullies paused, momentarily thrown off balance by the addition of another fighter.

“Hey, why don’t you mind your own business?” The ugly bald bully demanded, turning on the new kid. The kid gave them a cocky grin.

“It _is_ my business. Watching you shake down little kids every day is making me nauseous.” The kid landed a punch on the leader’s jaw, knocking him flat, and turned to take down the bald one. The third bully picked up a brick, sneaking up behind the new kid. Steve grabbed the nearest thing he could find- a trash can lid- and bashed him over the head. To his surprise, the bully went down- only to scramble back up and run away with the rest of his gang.

“Hah, bullies always run, true to form- and I do mean _run_ ,” the new kid said, turning to Steve. He looked about a little older, with dark brown hair and dark grey-blue eyes. His smile was bright and sunny, even with a trickle of blood running down the side of his face from one of the bullies’ blows.

“I woulda worn them down eventually,” Steve told him. He’d just been happy to have the help, is all. He would have gotten them for sure… aw, who was he kidding. He would have gotten creamed. Not that he was going to admit it to this kid.

“Yeah, when they died of old age,” the kid laughed. Steve stiffened. Here it came. His ally was going to start beating on _him_ in a moment.

“Maybe you wanna go a round or two, too?” Steve asked, raising his fists. If he was going to get picked on, at least he wasn’t going to do it quietly. But the boy surprised him, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Whoa there, cowboy! Holster those guns! I come in peace!” He took a step back, clearly signaling his intention _not_ to fight. Steve warily unmade his fists. “Never even occurred to me to stand up to those bums until I saw a shrimp like you do it. You’re a real inspiration, you know that?” The kid sounded sincere. Steve could ignore the ‘shrimp’ comment, he supposed. The kid had just helped him out of a scrape.

“Thanks, I guess.” He held out his hand to shake. “Steve Rogers. Been in the orphanage on Eighth Avenue since my mom passed.” Steve winced internally, waiting for the kid’s reaction. Some people gave him pity, some insults. Steve didn’t want either.

The boy didn’t react either way. He shrugged it off. “Good to know you kid. James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky.”

“Thanks… Bucky.” Steve gave him a tentative smile, one that was immediately returned.

“Say, Steve, how about we get those cuts of yours cleaned up?” Bucky asked.

“I guess. The sisters aren’t going to be happy to see I’ve been fighting again,” Steve shrugged. They’d already had ‘talks’ with him three times this week. It wasn’t his fault people kept hitting him! All he did was stand up for himself, or the other little kids.

“I didn’t mean back at the orphanage,” Bucky told him, placing a hand on his back and guiding him up Tenth Street.

“Where, then?” Steve asked.

“My place.”

 

Steve put up a token protest, but in the end he let Bucky lead him to one of the nicer buildings in the area- a sleek townhouse that looked like it had a fresh coat of paint. Steve hadn’t ever been inside a house that nice, but Bucky just dragged him in through the front door- bloody face and all.

They went into the kitchen, where a woman who looked like Bucky, but with fire-red hair, was standing at the sink peeling vegetables. She turned when they came in, and frowned at them. It was the same way Steve’s mom used to look at him, whenever he’d come in from a fight.

“Oh Bucky,” she asked, “what happened?”

“It wasn’t my fault, Mom!” Bucky insisted, and Steve nodded. It wasn’t. “Those bullies on Tenth were beating up Steve!”

Bucky’s mom didn’t look convinced, but she grabbed a rag and put some sort of ointment on it, and knelt down in front of Steve. “Were they?” She asked, making some noises over the cuts on Steve’s face. Steve winced when she put the rag on them. Whatever it was _stung_.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, because his momma had taught him to be polite. “They’ve been taking our money for weeks now. I couldn’t let ‘em get away with it!”

Bucky’s mom looked at her son, as if trying to see if they were telling the truth.

“It’s true, Mom!” Bucky protested. “They’ve been stealing the pocket change of all the kids from the Eighth Avenue orphanage whenever they try to cross Tenth.”

Steve felt the need to back up Bucky’s story, before his mom decided they were fibbing. “Bucky stopped ‘em from beating me up like they did Kevin last week. I could’a taken them by myself, but it was great to have some help.” Kevin was only six, and those jerks had been at least ten. No way was Steve going to let them get away with something like that!

Bucky’s mom seemed convinced. At least, he hoped she was. Then she put the cloth over the cut on his nose, the one made by the kid with the ring, and Steve couldn’t help but let out a gasp, eyes watering from pain.

“Stay still,” the woman told him, trying to hold him in place. “It’ll hurt more if you don’t.”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve nodded, but couldn’t help the occasional wince or whimper as she worked. Bucky obviously noticed, because he came over and wrapped a steadying arm around Steve’s shoulders, squeezing tightly.

“Hey, what happened to that brave punk in the alley? You goanna let a little bit of cloth beat you?” he asked.

“No!” Steve told him, a little insulted. Hadn’t he taken that beating without once letting out a sound of pain? He could do this. And he did. Soon, Bucky’s mom was finished, and she handed him a bag of peas from the honest-to-god _refrigerator_ to keep on his swollen eye. Steve then got to support Bucky as she turned the cloth on him. Bucky felt solid and comforting under his arm, but he shuddered a little when the ointment stung him.

Once Bucky was all cleaned up, his mom dumped the cloth in the sink and turned to the two of them. “Now, you two stay right here. I’m going to go get you some different clothes to wear while I mend these, alright?”

Both boys nodded and climbed into chairs at the table. Steve stared at Bucky’s kitchen in silence for a while, before deciding that it was too quite. Unfortunately, the first thing that popped out of his mouth was a comment about the refrigerator. Bucky seemed amused, which made it a little less awkward, but still.

“First one in the neighborhood,” he told Steve. “Dad bought it last month.”

“Wow! Neat!” Steve was impressed. He’d never known anyone with their own refrigerator before. The orphanage had one, but that was shared between nearly a hundred kids, plus the nuns. Bucky’s family consisted of _three_ people. He had to ask- “Does that mean you get cold soda whenever you want?” It would be heaven, to be able to have a cold coke, right from the refrigerator!

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “Mom says it’ll rot my teeth, so mostly I have to drink milk.”

Steve liked milk. It was good, and good for you- as his mom used to say. It makes you have strong bones, she always told him. He tried to tell that to Bucky. Bucky laughed.

“Or maybe if you didn’t drink milk, you’d have no bones at all!”

“Jerk,” Steve made a face at Bucky.

“Punk,” Bucky shot back. For some reason, that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Steve started laughing, and Bucky joined in. They were still laughing when Bucky’s mom came back with clothes for them, and made them go get changed. The hand-me-downs from Bucky were huge on Steve, though he was too tall for the pants. He felt a little silly, sitting in that nice kitchen, in clothes that made him look even more of a stick figure than he already was.

“Oh, you’re so _thin_ ,” Bucky’s mom said, the moment she saw him. “I thought it might have just been the clothes you were wearing, but no. Don’t they ever feed you?”

“They do, ma’am. I guess I just don’t put on weight like the other kids. Mom used to say I could eat forever and never gain a pound.”

“Hmm, looks like she was right,” Bucky’s mom told him, frowning. “Well. Let’s see if we can fix that. You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?”

“’Course he is,” Bucky said, before Steve could give her a proper answer. “We’re goanna go play soldiers!” Then he dragged Steve upstairs to his bedroom (and there was another novelty, a whole bedroom to himself!) and pulled out his toy soldiers. They spent the rest of the afternoon playing soldiers, or cowboys and Indians, or anything else that came to mind. Steve hadn’t had so much fun since his mom had died.

Bucky invited him over again the next day, and the day after that. Pretty soon, Steve was spending at least part of every day over at Bucky’s, and had standing permission from the sisters that ran the orphanage to stay the night, so long as Bucky’s parents called and told them where he was. Bucky’s dad even offered to teach him boxing so he wouldn’t get beaten up so much, and his mom made Steve new clothes. When they found out he could draw, they gave him sketchbooks and charcoal or pencils, and Bucky asked Steve for lessons. Steve gave him those lessons willingly- it was nice to have something to share with his friend.

 

Sometimes when they went to the park Bucky sat beside Steve and just watched him draw. Steve could never join in the more active games Bucky enjoyed, but he liked going anyway. He could sit and watch and draw. That way, he felt like part of the action, but didn’t risk that tight feeling in his chest that made it so hard to breathe. He hated when that happened, because Bucky would get frightened. It scared Steve too, when he struggled for breath, but he hated scaring Bucky.

On one particular day, Steve was drawing a squirrel in one of the trees across from where he sat, while Bucky tried to sketch something in the dirt with a stick. Sometimes, Steve would look up to see Bucky watching his hands. It made him feel a little self-conscious, but if he was being honest with himself, he liked that Bucky paid attention to him.

“You’re goanna be famous one day,” Bucky said, out of the blue. Steve stopped and stared at him. “Yep,” he continued, smiling as if he wasn’t talking crazy. “You’re going to have art in every museum around the world. People will be lining up to look at your pictures. And I’ll be able to say ‘I knew him when he was just some punk from Brooklyn.’”

Steve shook his head. “Aw, come on, Bucky, that ain’t goanna happen.”

Bucky punched him on the shoulder. Steve made a show of wincing at him, but secretly he liked when Bucky did that. Bucky didn’t treat him like he was made of glass, like most other people did.

“Of course it will,” his friend insisted. “And I’ll be your agent. Selling your art and scheduling appearances.”

Steve couldn’t see Bucky as an art agent, but it was a nice idea. “Really?” he asked, wondering if Bucky was just having him on.

“’Course I will,” Bucky told him, and the earnest look on his face convinced Steve that he meant it. “I’m with you to the end of the line. Ain’t nobody goanna separate us!” Steve liked the sound of that.

 

A few days after that day in the park, Steve started to feel really sick. He tried to hide it from Bucky, not wanting his friend to worry, but he knew he was going to end up bedridden pretty quick. It felt like one of the bad sicknesses, the ones that had always worried his mom when he got them. When he woke up one day with a sore throat and a red rash, the nuns confined him to the sick room and called the doctor.

The doctor looked at him, and turned away with sad eyes. Steve knew that look, he’d seen it before. It meant he wasn’t likely to survive this. But he’d beaten the odds for years, and he knew he’d been a lot sicker before. The doctor gave him some medication, and ordered him to stay in bed. Then he and Sister Amelia walked outside. Steve knew they were talking about him, and he hated it. They should be having the discussion _with_ him, instead of just _about_ him.

“Your friend came to visit you,” Sister Mary-Anne told him. “We had to send him away. I’m sorry, I know seeing him would have cheered you up.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, “but it’s better if he doesn’t come. I don’t want him to get sick too.”

“Oh honey,” the sister cooed. “You are a sweet child, aren’t you?” Steve didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

Sometime later, one of the sisters came in and got Sister Mary-Anne. He was pretending to be asleep at that point, and overheard something about a phone call, the word ‘adoption’, and the name Barnes. Barnes was Bucky’s family! Steve tried not to get his hopes up. Why would Bucky’s family want to adopt a sickly kid like him? He’d just be a drain on their money, needing doctors and medication all the time.

“Steven,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. “Steven, come on, wake up honey.” Sister Mary-Anne, then. Nobody else called him ‘honey’. He opened his eyes. “Steven, honey, we’ve just got a call from Mr. Barnes, and he and his wife are coming over to talk to Mother Catherine. Seems they want to adopt you, sweetheart. Isn’t that wonderful?” The sister was staring at him with wide eyes and a wider smile, a smile Steve couldn’t help but return. He hoped he wasn’t hallucinating.

He wasn’t. A few hours later, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes were ushered into the infirmary by Mother Catherine. The minute she saw Steve, Mrs. Barnes rushed over to his side.

“Oh, Steve, baby, I’m so sorry,” she said, putting a hand on his forehead and petting his hair. “When Bucky told us you were sick, we wanted to come right away, but there were some things we had to take care of.”

“It’s ok,” Steve told her. He was so tired, it was hard to get the words out of his mouth, and speaking made his throat burn.

“Oh sweetling,” Bucky’s mom looked at him the way his mom always used to when he was sick. It was such a familiar expression, Steve wanted to cry. “It’s not ok, but it is what it is. And now that we’re here, we have something we want to ask you.”

“What’s that?” Steve asked, hoping really hard that he wasn’t hallucinating all of this.

“Do you want to be our son? Bucky’s brother?”

It would be nice to be someone’s son again, to have a home, a family. Especially if it meant Bucky would be his family. But he had to ask. “Why me? I’m sick, all the time. And I’m not good for much, and-“ he broke off, coughing.

“Son,” Bucky’s dad had moved to stand on the other side of his bed, and now he rested a big hand on Steve’s shoulders. “That kind of thing doesn’t matter to us. You’re practically family already. You’re over at our house all the time as it is, and you mean a lot to Bucky. If we didn’t want you, you would have known it months ago. So how about we make it official, Steve?”

Steve thought it over. He _wanted_ to say yes, but he didn’t want to be adopted out of pity. If that was why they were offering, then he would have to say no. Then he thought about it some more. They’d never once treated him with pity, only kindness. And they _did_ feel like family already. How many times had he stayed at Bucky’s house in just the past month? So maybe… maybe they really did want him. He nodded.

“Just, can I… can I keep my last name?”

Bucky’s parents looked at each other, and Mrs. Barnes smiled at him. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

 

It took some time before Steve was actually able to move to his new home, and once there he was ensconced in what had been the guest room- now his sick room. Bucky’s parents got him all the medications the doctors said he needed, and his life once again became a regime of pills and doctor visits, occasionally broken by a visit from his new parents. Bucky wasn’t allowed to see him until about a week after he was moved to the house, though he’d been able to help Steve move.

Finally, once the doctors were sure Steve was on the mend, they let Bucky come in. His friend was wearing a mask over his mouth and nose- no doubt to prevent him getting sick. He looked around the room with wide eyes, and boy was Steve glad to see him.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, giving him a little wave and a smile.

“Hi Steve. Mom says I can’t stay long, but I haven’t seen you in _ages_.” Bucky climbed into the chair next to Steve’s bed and sat swinging his legs. Steve laughed at him, or tried to, before the laugh became a cough. Bucky’s eyes grew wide, and he scrambled to get Steve the glass of water next to the bed. Steve tried to force his body to calm down- he didn’t want to scare Bucky any more.

“Thanks,” he finally said, taking a sip of the water. “Doc says I’ll be back to normal in a few weeks. It’s only this bad ‘cause my immune system’s so weak- I catch anything. And it hasn’t been ages, Bucky, it’s only been like a week.” He tried to reassure his friend, not liking the way his eyebrows crinkled in together as he worried.

“A week and a _half,_ ” Bucky insisted, but he didn’t look reassured. “They said you were too sick for me to come see you. I thought you were goanna die!”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not goanna die, Buck.” He remembered the last time someone thought he was going to die. Two years ago, it had been his mother sitting where Bucky was, giving him the exact same worried ‘please-don’t-die’ look. He’d been a lot closer to death then than he was now, and said as much. Strangely, that only made Bucky look more frightened.

“Well, you can’t get sick like this again. We’re goanna take care a’ you now.”

That made Steve a little embarrassed. Nobody had ever promised to take care of him except his mother. It was… nice to have a family again. To cover his awkwardness, he started drawing with the new pad and pencil Mrs. Barnes (he couldn’t quite think of her as ‘mom’ yet) had given him. Bucky watched him in silence.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” Steve was confused. Did he like what? The drawing? Bucky was staring at it like it had the answer to the universe written on it.

“The room. Mom said you could stay in here after you get better, or you could… if you wanted…” Bucky was suddenly as awkward as Steve. Steve stopped sketching and stared at his friend’s face. It was harder to read him when a mask obscured his mouth, but his eyes still broadcast his thoughts to the world at large. “You could share my room,” he finished, and Steve grinned. Bucky obviously wanted him to share with him, but was willing to accept Steve’s decision on the matter.

“Yeah, I like it,” Steve told him, and watched his eyes fall back to the paper, disappointed. But Steve wasn’t finished. “But, I get kinda lonely at night. I’m used to having other people around, y’know? So, maybe I could share with you. I mean, if that’s what you want.” He hoped he wasn’t reading his friend wrong.

He wasn’t. Bucky brightened immediately. “Yeah! It’ll be great! We can push our beds together and make forts out of the sheets! Just… you don’t snore, do you?”

Steve made a face. Just like Bucky to ruin the moment with a question like that. “No, I don’t snore. Jerk.”

“All right, all right,” Bucky lifted his hands in surrender. “Just asking. Punk.”

 

The next week, the doctors said Steve was getting better. He still felt pretty awful, and coughed a whole lot, but they let Bucky stay with him more often. Bucky was almost worse than a mother, standing over him, making him drink water and take his pills, but he welcomed the company. More than anything but bullies, Steve hated being alone. Sure, he could draw to fill the time, but it wasn’t the same as actually being around people.

One day, Bucky was sitting next to him, watching him draw, when Steve had an idea. “Hey, Bucky,” he asked, “mind if I draw you?”

“What?” Bucky looked a little alarmed. “Draw me?”

“Yeah. You just sit there, and I draw you. It’s good practice.”

“Hmm,” he seemed a little dubious. “You’re not goanna have to draw _on_ me or anything, are ya?” he asked. Steve laughed.

“No, Buck. You just sit there like you’re doing now.”

“Well,” Bucky drew it out, pausing for effect. Steve raised his eyebrows at him. “Okay, I guess.”

“Great. Don’t move.”

Steve spent most of that afternoon drawing Bucky. It was harder than it looked, drawing real people. The hardest parts were the hands and the eyes. Nothing he did seemed to make them come out right, and he ended up with a page that was nothing but failed attempts at Bucky’s eyes. But at last, he had something that looked almost like the real thing. Once he was done, he showed it to Bucky.

“Oh, wow!” Bucky was practically bouncing as he looked at it. “This is so awesome! Can I keep it?” he held onto the paper, as if afraid Steve would say no.

“Sure. If you do one thing for me.”

“What’s that?” Bucky had pulled his share of pranks with that question, so he was understandably nervous.

“Let me draw you again tomorrow!”

 

Steve did get to draw Bucky the next day, and the day after that. A few days later, he was still drawing Bucky when he started feeling really funny. All at once, his hand jerked for no reason, smearing charcoal across the drawing of Bucky’s arm.

“Steve?” Bucky asked him, concerned. Steve shook his head, trying to ignore it, but it happened again. This time, the drawing was well and truly ruined. And his hands wouldn’t stop jerking.

“Steve!” Bucky tried to grab onto Steve’s hand, but it jerked free, coming up to smack Steve on the nose. He felt something crunch and blood started to trickle down his face. At the same time, his feet started to jerk too.

“Bucky,” Steve cried, terrified. What was happening? Bucky tried to grab his hands again, and again missed. Steve couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly as his hands and feet moved.

“You’ll be ok, Steve,” Bucky promised, but it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself too. He ran for his mom, leaving Steve alone.

 

By the time the doctor arrived, the jerking had calmed down and Bucky was once more at Steve’s side. His mom sat on the other side of the bed, holding one of Steve’s hands. Bucky held the other.

The doctor shooed them out and gave Steve a full examination, making the faces Steve hated- the ‘this poor boy’ expressions. He didn’t need the doctor to feel sorry for him, he just needed him to make him better! He held the stethoscope over Steve’s heart for a long time, and the look in his eyes when he removed it told Steve everything he needed to know.

“You are a very sick young man,” the doctor told him. “You’re going to have to go the hospital, I think. And take a lot of medication. Your body is all but worn out from fighting the Scarlet Fever. I’m sorry, lad.” He didn’t say it, but Steve knew what he was thinking- Steve was probably going to die. He’d been afraid of that ever since his feet started jerking. He tried to put on a brave face. No need to let the doctor know that he knew.

“That’s ok, doc. You’re going to get me better, right?”

“I’ll need to go talk to your parents now. They’re going to have to make some decisions.”

_Sure, about my funeral,_ Steve thought, but didn’t say. The doctor left the room, to where Bucky and his parents were waiting in the hallway. He closed the door behind him, but Steve could still hear him if he strained to listen.

“I’m afraid it’s Rheumatic Fever,” the doctor said, but that didn’t mean anything to Steve. “It can sometimes develop after an infection like Scarlet Fever. I can prescribe medicine for him, but with his immune system, and especially since he hasn’t quite recovered from the Scarlet Fever, I wouldn’t expect him to survive this.”

“No!” Bucky’s shout came as a surprise. Steve hadn’t expected his friend to protest so vehemently. “He’ll be ok. He has to be!”

Steve couldn’t hear what the doctor said to Bucky, but whatever it was obviously just made Bucky more upset. “Steve won’t,” he shouted. “He’ll fight, you’ll see!” Steve wasn’t so sure his body had enough fight left in it. He wondered what Bucky would do when he died. Steve decided that when he died, he’d come back as an angel to guard Bucky the way Bucky had protected him.

The door edged open, and Bucky slipped in, padding over to where Steve lay on the bed.

“Hey Steve,” he said in a low voice, probably hoping the doctor and his parents wouldn’t hear.

“Hey Bucky,” Steve didn’t have much energy to talk, but seeing Bucky made him feel a little better. “Doc says I’m real sick. Guess I might not make it this time.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, trying and failing to look confused. “You’ll be fine. Doc’s giving Mom and Dad medicine for you to take now. He says you’ll be all better soon.”

“Liar,” Steve called him out. “I heard him say I was goanna die.” Bucky’s face fell. “It’s okay, really,” Steve tried to reassure his friend. “The doctors told Mom when I was born that I probably wouldn’t live past three. I made it to eight, at least. That’s something.” He was proud of how long he’d lasted- against all odds, Steve Rogers had lived to eight years old. Maybe not the most impressive feat in the world, but it was something.

“Don’t talk like that!” Bucky started to shout, lowering his voice when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be in Steve’s room. “You’re not goanna leave me here on my own, are ya? Who would make me stand up to the bullies, if not for you?”

Steve smiled a little. Like Bucky needed a reason to stand up to the bullies. “You’d do it anyway.”

“No I wouldn’t,” Bucky insisted. “And I wouldn’t have anyone to make me be nice to girls, or- or to stop me from getting mad when old Mr. Alexander down the street chases us off his yard. Who’d go to the cinema with me, or the soda fountain? Nobody else’ll give me half their ice-cream to finish. And we still haven’t gone to that baseball game you promised we’d go to. So don’t you go giving up on me!”

Steve was a little shocked at the strength of Bucky’s protests, and even more shocked by the tears that were streaming down his friend’s face. He’d been okay with dying, but he would _never_ be okay with making Bucky cry. If forcing his poor run-down body through another sickness everyone said he wouldn’t survive was what it took, that’s what Steve would do to make sure Bucky wouldn’t cry.

“Hey,” he reached out and put a hand on Bucky’s arm. The contact seemed to reassure both of them. “Okay. I- I’ll try to get better. I promise.”

 

Bucky went with Steve when they moved him to the hospital. One or another of their parents would stay with the boys. Their mom sang to them at night, lulling them into sleep. Steve didn’t sleep much, but when he did it was to her singing. He got a lot worse. Everything felt swollen, and the pain in his chest was incredible. The doctors told them that the jerking was caused by a secondary illness called Saint Vitus Dance, which could happen with infections like Rheumatic Fever. Knowing its name didn’t help much when Steve was caught in it, though. He wished he could find this Saint Vitus or whoever and tell him a thing or two.

His heart was the worst though. It hadn’t ever worked properly, but now it was worse than ever. The doctors said it was swollen because of the fever, the same way all his joints were swollen. Only swollen joints wouldn’t kill him. A swollen heart could.

He woke up once with Bucky crying next to him, a flurry of medical staff surrounding them. They told him his heart had almost stopped, and he’d passed out. After that, every time a doctor or nurse entered the room, Bucky asked them to check Steve’s heart. Finally, probably tired of Bucky asking all the time, one of the doctors walked over to Steve’s bedside and gently took his arm. Steve and Bucky watched as he turned it over, and pressed to fingers to Steve’s wrist. He listened for a moment, then nodded.

“His heart is doing fine. Here, see for yourself.” The doctor guided Bucky to Steve’s side, positioning his hand with deft fingers until Bucky could feel Steve’s heartbeat. “That’s his pulse. As long as you can feel that, you’ll know his heart is working.” Bucky nodded seriously, and after that he kept two fingers to Steve’s pulse. Steve didn’t mind. If it helped Bucky feel better, that was all that mattered. And at night it was comforting. Steve slept a little better, knowing Bucky would let anyone know if something happened while he was asleep.

 

Finally, finally, Steve was allowed to go home. He’d beaten the odds yet again, something he thought he might be able to keep doing- so long as Bucky remained at his side. And remain by his side, he did. Bucky was still scared Steve was going to relapse, so he wouldn’t sleep unless he could check Steve’s pulse. At first, their parents tried to stop him from sleeping in Steve’s room, insisting that Steve needed rest, but Bucky would always sneak in in the night anyway. At last, they just gave up and let them both stay in Bucky’s room- now their room.

Steve didn’t sleep much for the first few days. His chest still hurt, and it kept him up at night. Then, one night, he started hearing Bucky make a strange whining sound. “Bucky,” he whispered, wondering what was wrong, but Bucky didn’t respond. He just kept whimpering. In the dim light from the street outside Steve could just make out his closed eyes. Bucky was having a nightmare. Steve wasn’t sure what to do about that. He’d never had to calm someone down from a nightmare before. He tried waking Bucky, but his friend was too wrapped in the dream to notice. Instead, Steve thought about what his mother had always done when he’d had nightmares. She’d sing to him, stroking his hair until he calmed down.

Taking a deep breath, Steve began to sing. The result was instantaneous. Bucky stopped whimpering, he seemed to relax, leaning in to Steve’s hand on his hair. It was awkward, since he had to reach over with his far hand to stroke Bucky’s hair- Bucky had his other hand trapped where he could feel Steve’s pulse. But gradually, he grew calmer and calmer. When Steve thought Bucky was back in a normal sleep he stopped singing. Unfortunately, the minute he stopped singing Bucky started whimpering again.

It took three more songs before Steve could stop and go to sleep, but when they woke Bucky looked a lot better rested than he had in weeks. After that, Steve kept an ear out for Bucky’s nightmares, and would wake up to sing them away. Sometimes he would sing to Bucky in the mornings, too, for no other reason than that Bucky seemed to like it.

 

Time passed. Every time Steve got sick, Bucky would insist on staying with him. Whether it was just good luck or an astonishing immune system, he rarely seemed to catch what Steve had. Pretty soon Steve was used to extending his wrist whenever Bucky got a particular worried look on his face, and was always rewarded by a relieved smile when Bucky felt his pulse. They got picked on about that in school sometimes, but if it didn’t bother Bucky, it didn’t bother Steve. He tried his hardest to never let Bucky know how sick he got, though he couldn’t ever say how successful he was.

The bullies never seemed to stop. Steve had thought, when he was very young, that as people got older they stopped trying to hurt other people just for the heck of it. Instead, he found that they just got sneakier. They changed from blatant insults to underhanded comments, from schoolyard fights to beating him up in back alleys. He could probably have avoided most of those fights, but he wasn’t about to let other people get bullied if he could do anything about it. And Bucky was always right behind him, his strong protector. Steve knew people picked on Bucky because he was friends with Steve, but didn’t say anything. It was pretty obvious Bucky didn’t want him to know, so he pretended he didn’t. He just wished that someday he could be strong enough to protect Bucky too.

 

High school was awful. Being a year younger than Bucky, he’d never been able to be in the same class, but the year they’d been at different schools had been almost intolerable. It was only knowing that Bucky would be waiting for him when he got out for the day that got Steve through it. But over that year, something happened. Steve was never quite sure what, but by the end of it Bucky was the most popular kid in school.

The next year, Steve arrived, and he was Bucky’s ‘kid brother’, the poor pathetic friend that Bucky took pity on and let him hang out with him. Or that was how everyone else saw it. They made Bucky so angry sometimes that he would spend hours ranting about it to Steve when they were alone. Steve wouldn’t let him confront them directly though, he didn’t want Bucky to lose the popularity he obviously enjoyed.

He didn’t seem to enjoy all the attention from the girls though. It was the funniest thing, watching him dance around, avoiding them. He didn’t quite like to think about what would happen when Bucky found a girl he didn’t want to avoid, but he’d been sharing Bucky with other people for years. A girlfriend wouldn’t really be any different.

Bucky avoiding girls was funny up to a point. But when Steve found him cornered against a tree and had to rescue him, he found the point. Sure it was hilarious, but it was also a little pathetic. Something had to be done. So he suggested Bucky try dating. Unfortunately, Bucky wanted him to try dating too.

 

Dating turned out to be worse than school. Bucky picked the girls for their double date, and while they were nice enough, it was clear his ‘date’ would far rather have been with Bucky. Dinner proved to be mostly stilted conversation with both girls laughing at Bucky’s every word and ignoring Steve. When his date did talk to him, it was mostly to ask about Bucky. Steve felt like a shadow. It got worse. When they got to the dance hall, the girl proceeded to ignore him. It was pretty clear she didn’t want to dance with Steve, and Steve would never be so rude as to dance with another girl when he was on a date, so he didn’t dance. He watched Bucky dance though, and wished he could be as charming as his friend.

Two hours into the date, Steve still hadn’t danced, and now he couldn’t find Bucky. He wasn’t on the dance floor, or with his date (who was being entertained by several men at the moment.) The next place Steve decided to look was outside. On his way to the door, he heard his friend’s familiar voice growling “Look, you shouldn’t’a come on this date if you weren’t going to give him a chance.” Steve held his breath. Bucky was standing in the corner with the girl who had been Steve’s partner, giving her the exact same look he gave the guys that punched Steve.

“Yeah?” the girl spat, reminding Steve of an offended cat. “Well, you shouldn’t’a asked me to come then. I ain’t goanna dance with a guy a foot shorter than I am. He’s a sweet kid, but I ain’t goanna get laughed at just ‘cause he’s your friend.” She turned and stormed past Bucky, knocking into Steve as she did so. The look she gave him was venomous. He wanted to protest that he hadn’t even done anything, but it wouldn’t have done him any good. Bucky turned, saw him, and grabbed him by the arm.

“Come on, Steve. We’re going home.”

Bucky insisted they go out again the next week. And the week after that. Steve couldn’t count the number of dates he sat through, consoling the girl who got ‘second place.’ He never danced. After that first night, he never wanted to. He’d rather be bored than have the girl he was with get laughed at.

At last, Bucky seemed to realize his plan wasn’t working. Steve was glad when Bucky stopped asking him to come, relieved that Bucky would be able to enjoy his dates without Steve there to put a damper on things. Steve had to admit he was a little jealous, but when he thought about it he wasn’t sure if he was jealous of Bucky, or of the girls. In the end, it didn’t really matter though. Bucky never dated a girl more than once, taking her out, showing her a good time, and kissing her goodnight. Steve thought he probably did more than kiss a few of them, but he promised that he never went farther than the girl was willing to go, so Steve never asked. He trusted Bucky to treat his dates right.

 

About six months before Steve was ready to graduate high school, he got a surprising letter. From his grandmother. He was still staring at it when Bucky got home from work.

“Hey punk,” Bucky barged into their room, coming up short when he saw Steve’s face. “What is it?”

“I got a letter…”

“Yeah, I can see that. Who’s it from?” Bucky sat down on the bed next to him, looking over his shoulder at the letter.

“My grandmother.” Steve heard Bucky’s sharp intake of breath. He knew how he felt. He’d felt the same when he’d seen the name on the return address.

“I thought your whole family was…” Bucky didn’t like to remind Steve that his biological family was all dead. Steve was part of his family now.

“So did I. But it looks like we were wrong. My dad’s mom is still alive. For now.”

“For now?! Steve, what does that letter _say_?” He swiped the letter from Steve’s hands, and started reading it. “My dearest Steven… ew, she calls you Steven.”

“Quit it, Buck. As far as I know she’s never met me, she doesn’t know I don’t go by Steven.”

“Still. Creepy. It’s like somebody calling me James. Anyway, let’s see, ‘My dearest Steven, I apologize for my lack of contact for so many years-‘ lack of contact, is that what she calls it? Huh. ‘But I believed it to be for the best. I am writing to you now because I would like to meet you before… before I die.’ Oh, Steve, buddy, I’m sorry.” Bucky returned the letter, resting a big hand on Steve’s shoulder. The weight of it was solid and comforting. Familiar in a way the handwriting in the letter should have been but wasn’t.

“She says she’s sick, and the doctors don’t know how much time she has. Could be weeks, could be years. But she wants to meet now. She says… She says she’s sorry,” Steve laughed. It sounded bitter to his ears. “Sorry she let me get sent to the orphanage, that she didn’t think she could take care of a seven-year-old kid on her own.”

“Steve,” Bucky seemed at a loss for words.

“Well, I’m not sorry.” Steve nodded, knowing the truth of it as he said it. “I did end up in the orphanage, and maybe it wasn’t the best place, but it was there when I needed it. And then I met you, and I wouldn’t give _that_ up for anything. I’m not sorry,” he said again, hating how angry the words sounded. “I just… I just wish she would have told me _why_.”

“Ah, who needs her,” Bucky told him, pulling him into a hug. “You’ve got a family right here.”

 

In the end, Steve did go see his grandmother. She was… she was kind, and funny, and she had a hell of a spirit. She reminded him a lot of his mom, actually. He ended up forgiving her for abandoning him as a kid within five minutes of meeting her. Bucky never really understood, but he supported Steve’s decisions. He helped Steve get a job when he graduated, at a pharmacy run by the brother of one of the guys he worked with in the factory. And he walked Steve to and from his grandmother’s apartment in bad weather. They had an argument when Steve agreed to move in with her, to be a live-in caretaker. Bucky didn’t like to think of Steve owing anything to anyone, especially the woman that gave him up. What he didn’t understand was that Steve didn’t think he owed anyone anything. It was just the right thing to do.

Steve did wish that Bucky would have moved in with him too, but the apartment his grandmother lived in wasn’t big enough. They still saw each other every day, in-between work and Bucky’s endless string of dates. It wasn’t the same. Steve might have been jealous of Bucky’s dates, if he ever kept the same one for more than a night. Instead, he just missed his friend. The nights weren’t the same without Bucky next to him, checking his pulse, or having nightmares Steve could sing him out of. A few hours every day wasn’t near enough.

At least they had art class. Bucky never seemed to care that he wasn’t as good as any of the other art students, he kept signing up to every class Steve did. Steve was grateful. They set up a studio of sorts in Bucky’s apartment, their projects spread out on the floor. Bucky joked about using Steve’s art to impress the dames, but Steve didn’t care. Curled up on Bucky’s floor, working on their art together, it was almost like they were kids again. Almost, but not quite.

 

Steve watched his grandmother get sicker with each passing day. Sometimes, he wondered if this was how Bucky felt, watching him, always afraid that this could be the day he didn’t wake up. He hoped not, but it probably was. He remembered the way Bucky always checked his pulse. Not ‘probably’.

Five years after Steve started taking care of his grandmother, three after he moved in with her, she died. Bucky held him as he cried, and stayed beside him at her well-attended funeral. It was comforting, until suddenly it wasn’t. Steve looked around and saw a lot of people he didn’t know, comforting each other over the death of a woman they hadn’t visited more than once or twice in more than five years. They all seemed to be with a husband, a wife, a lover or a boyfriend. All Steve had, all he wanted, was Bucky. But one day, Steve wasn’t going to be enough for him. He would find a pretty girl and settle down with her, start a family, and art classes with Steve would become just a memory. Steve found that he really didn’t want that to happen. What he did want, well, he didn’t really know. They couldn’t stay single forever, but Steve didn’t think he really wanted anything else.

He felt guilty, having these thoughts at his grandmother’s funeral. He should be grieving her, not worrying about things yet to come. But the world was in turmoil. Europe was at war. Asia too. Soon enough, America was going to get pulled in. Where would he and Bucky fit in that? He knew he was going to sign up, but what would Bucky do? His head was full of worries. There seemed to be no room for grief.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t sad. Just, he was a lot of other things than just sad. He needed some time, just five minutes without anyone around. Time to clear his head. He left the funeral early, wandering the streets of Brooklyn, until he had his thoughts in order. When he looked up, he found his feet had taken him to Bucky’s apartment. And that was answer enough to all his questions for the moment. Whatever else he knew, Steve knew that Bucky meant home.

And there was Bucky, looking for him. And suddenly the grief came crashing down on him. He tried to pretend he was fine, but was pretty sure Bucky could see right through it. He was always the best at reading Steve.

“I was goanna ask,” he held out a key to Steve- the spare key to his apartment. It was only at that moment that Steve realized he had nowhere to live. “You know, we could pull out the couch, make a fort just like when we were kids.” He pressed the key into Steve’s hands. “It’ll be fun. All you’ll have to do is shine my shoes or something, maybe take out the trash.”

Steve looked at the key in his hands. He wanted to keep it. God he wanted to keep it. But Bucky had given him a home once before. This time, he should take care of himself. “Thanks, Buck. But I can get by on my own.”

“Thing is,” Bucky reached out to grab his shoulder and Steve leaned in to the familiar comforting touch. “You don’t have to. I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

Steve nodded, holding back tears. Bucky had no idea how much those words had meant, would always mean, to him. He hoped Bucky knew, it went both ways. To the end of the line, and beyond.

 

Things were peaceful for a few months after that. Steve experienced a kind of calm he hadn’t felt in years, living with Bucky again. It was as if they hadn’t ever lived apart. Bucky still held onto Steve’s wrist through the night and Steve still soothed Bucky’s nightmares with a song. People told Steve he looked happier, and they weren’t wrong. Something had been missing from his life when he was only seeing Bucky for one or two hours a day, something that he hadn’t realized was gone until it slotted back into place like a dislocated joint. It was seamless, easy in a way nothing else ever was. Unfortunately, it didn’t last.

One day, several months after they moved back in together, Steve returned home to find Bucky at their table, shoulders hunched, staring blankly at a piece of paper. When Steve moved closer, he saw it was one of his drawings- a picture of their mom.

“Buck? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mom,” Bucky choked out. “She’s- she’s-” He hid his face in Steve’s shirt, and Steve could feel some wetness spreading- Bucky was crying.

“Hey, hey, calm down. It’ll be alright. What’s wrong with her?” The answer was worse than he’d feared.

“Cancer.” Bucky could barely say the word. A chill went through Steve. He knew what was coming.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and Bucky gave a small sob.

“The doc says she had a month. Maybe more. Dad’s… I don’t think he’s going to live long without her. He’s going crazy, trying to take care of her, but there’s nothing he can do. She was hiding it. We don’t know how long. I think Dad knew a while ago, but they only decided to tell us this week. I think they realized they couldn’t hide it. She- god, Steve, she looks like a shadow. She’s so thin, I was afraid she was going to break when I hugged her. How come I never noticed before, huh? I see her every week, and she never said anything! And I never saw!” The flood of words ended with Bucky turning and slamming his fist down on the table. Steve gently tugged him back towards him and pulled him into a hug.

“If she really didn’t want us to know, she would have gone to a lot of trouble to hide it. You know she never wanted us to worry about her. Hell, I go see them every week, same as you, and I never saw it either.”

“Steve, what am I goanna do?” Bucky asked. Steve felt helpless, worse even than when he’d been watching his own mother die of tuberculosis. At least then, he’d been a kid, he hadn’t really understood what was going on. Now, now he knew exactly what was going to happen. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

They moved back into their parents’ house. Steve took it upon himself to cook- Bucky was terrible at it, and their dad was falling apart with grief. They shared the other chores, taking up all the duties the ‘adults’ had done before. Their mom got worse by the day. They all knew it was only a matter of time, no matter how willing they were to admit it.

“It’s going to be ok,” Steve told her one day, though he knew it was going to be anything but ok. He knew how much it helped him to have people truly believe he was going to get better, and hoped it would help their mom. “The new treatment will work, I’m sure.” It wasn’t, he knew that. The doctors knew it. Worse, their mom knew it too.

“No, Steve, honey,” she told him, and it killed him to hear the voice that had once taught him to sing so weak and raspy. “I’m dying. You know it, same as me. Bucky and Dad, they don’t want to admit it, but they know it too.”

“No!” Steve couldn’t just let her give up! “No, you aren’t going to die!”

“Sweetheart,” she smiled at him, gently patting his hand. “You know it better than anyone. Everyone dies. It’s my time.”

It was true. He knew it was true. And he hated it. “No! No, you’ve taken care of me, saved my life. If I can’t-!” He closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

Their mom laughed. “Steve. You’ve given me joy in my life. My house is filled with your art. My son is happy because of you. I could ask for no more. But I want you to do one thing for me.”

“What is it?” Steve would have given her anything, if it meant she would live.

“Take care of him. After we’re gone- his father and I. Bucky is going to need you more than ever.”

Steve wanted to protest. It wasn’t ever Bucky who needed Steve, it was always the other way around. But he could promise to protect him, and gladly. Hadn’t he already promised himself the same thing when they were children? If Bucky ever needed him, he would be there.

“I promise,” he told her, the words weighted with all his conviction. “Until the day I die, and beyond if that’s possible. I will take care of Bucky.” She nodded, smiling, eyes closed.

“Bucky,” she called, and Steve looked up, shocked. Bucky was there? “Bucky, come in here. I know you’re out there.”

“How’d you know?” Bucky came in and stood in the door. He looked like hell, but Steve thought he probably didn’t look much better himself.

“Call it a mother’s intuition.” Their mom squeezed Steve’s hand and opened her eyes, focusing her gaze on Bucky. “You just heard me make Steve promise to take care of you. Now I have a promise I want you to make.”

“What is it, Ma?” Bucky asked, though they both already knew he would promise whatever it was.

“I want you to take care of Steve. He’s seen too much death in his short life. He needs you now.” Steve held back a sob. Bucky nodded.

“Of course, Ma. ‘Till the end of the line.” He smiled at Steve, sweet and sad. Steve ducked his head. They were in it together, as always, until the end of the line. Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Their mom died the next day. The whole family was together, sitting with her. They’d known the end was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. Her husband sat on the bed, pulling her frail body into his lap. Steve and Bucky held her hands, and Steve tried not to think about how think and pale she was.

“It’s time,” she told them, her voice faded away almost to nothing. “Don’t cry for me, my boys. I’m going to a better place now.”

“Ma,” Bucky’s voice was thick with tears. Steve didn’t trust his own enough to speak.

“My sons, remember your promise. Take care of each other.” She locked eyes with each of them in turn.

“We will,” Steve told her, and was rewarded with a small smile.

“Good.” She turned her gaze to her husband. “And, my love, try to find a reason to live without me, won’t you?”

“No promises,” he whispered. Steve closed his eyes. He knew what was going to happen, the same as she did. There was a war on overseas. If he didn’t find an ending there, there were a million other ways.

“There never were any, between us. I’ll be waiting for you beyond the sky.”

Steve lost his battle with tears. She noticed.

“No Steve. Don’t cry.” She squeezed his hand. “Will you sing for me?” He nodded, but the tears wouldn’t stop. They flowed thick and hot down his cheeks, choking him, making it hard to get enough air to sing.

“Good. You know what I want to hear.” He did. Of all the songs she had taught him, there was one she loved best. Amazing Grace. “I love you three,” she told them. “Very much.”

As her eyes closed, Steve forced air into his aching lungs and began to sing. Somewhere during the song, her life slipped away. Steve prayed that she found peace.

_Amazing grace, how sweet the sound_

_That saved a wretch like me_

_I once was lost, but now I’m found_

_Was blind, but now I see_

 

One week after the funeral, they lost Bucky’s father too. Oh, not all at once, no. He left the house to Bucky and Steve and went to the war. Steve wasn’t sure why he’d waited even that long, it had been pretty clear from the moment his wife had died, that he didn’t want to live any longer. It took two months for him to find his ending at the hands of a German grenade, protecting his squad. The telegram didn’t come as a surprise. Steve and Bucky had known what would happen before he’d even shipped out.

Steve did his best to get Bucky through his grief. He knew what it was like, losing your parents. For him, this was the second time around. Bucky had never lost anyone before. It was easier, this time, because Steve had Bucky to worry about. They helped each other through their grief, and in time it faded. The loss was still there, but it wasn’t as fresh.

Bucky became more protective of Steve. He needed reassurance of Steve’s presence more often than ever, checking his pulse more frequently even though he wasn’t sick. Steve didn’t mind. He was just as scared of losing Bucky. But he had the feeling that no matter what, so long as he had Bucky, they’d be alright.

In contrast to the previous year, 1941 was a wonderful year for Steve. He had enough money to buy himself and Bucky season passes to the Dodgers games, and they went to see one almost every week. Bucky never went on a date on game nights, it was always just the two of them, the way Steve liked best. And he convinced Steve to try selling some of his art. To Steve’s surprise, people actually bought it, and they had a little extra money for things like trips to the cinema. Nothing seemed to go wrong. Until December.

 

They were in art class when it happened, joking around like it was any other day. And then the doors flew open and another teacher ran in. “War!” He yelled, and that was all Steve needed to hear. He grabbed Bucky, and they went to find a radio.

Turned out, the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. If the fleet hadn’t been out doing exercises that morning, the attack would have taken America out of the war before it could have entered it. Instead, the full power of the American military was thrown into the fray, and they were calling for men to volunteer. America may not have started this war, but now that they were in it, they were sure as hell going to finish it.

“We have to enlist,” Steve told Bucky, and watched his face. His expression was hard to read. Sadness, maybe, or pity?

“I know _I_ do, but I thought you were goanna put Norman Rockwell outta business.”

“This is a higher calling,” Steve told him. “Roosevelt won’t just go after Japan. We’ll be at war with Hitler and Mussolini soon enough. He’ll need everybody he can get.”

“But you-” Bucky was going to list the reasons why Steve couldn’t be a soldier. The same reasons why Steve couldn’t play baseball or football. The same reasons Bucky kept a tight hold on Steve’s pulse point at night. He didn’t want to hear it.

“Save your breath. I’ve heard the same script since we were kids.” It came out sounding more bitter than he intended. “Am I or am I not talking to the three-time west side YMCA welterweight champ?” He had a plan, he just needed Bucky to help him out a little bit.

“Well, sure, but-” Bucky looked surprised, and then comprehension dawned on his face.

“You can get me ready to pass that physical, Buck! I know you can!” Steve made his eyes wide and tried to give Bucky his best puppy-dog face- the one he couldn’t ever say no to.

“I don’t know that! I need something to work with first!” For a second, Bucky had looked panicked, but the expression was gone as quickly as it had come. “You get winded taking three flights of stairs! You don’t need a trainer, Steve-o. You need a complete body transplant.”

Steve turned away. He didn’t _need_ Bucky to believe in him for this. But it would have been nice. “Forget it, then. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Bucky’s hand caught his shoulder. “I didn’t say _no_.”

 

In the end, it didn’t matter. They went to the recruitment office together, after two weeks of hard training. They didn’t talk much, too full of their own thoughts to converse. After this, nothing was clear. Where they’d be posted, where they’d train, hell, if they’d even be together. Steve didn’t know. But he hoped they’d keep them in the same unit. It just wouldn’t be right, fighting without Bucky by his side.

But the doctor took one look at his chart, and Steve knew. Nothing he could say or do would convince him to give Steve a chance. Walking out of the office, he met Bucky, who knew without asking what had happened. Maybe he’d always known, even before agreeing to train him. Steve waved off his platitudes. He wasn’t going to let one doctor tell him no, not when he’d never done so before.

So Steve trained in secret. He couldn’t ask Bucky to train him again, especially not when his friend was going off to his basic training in a few weeks. He pointedly didn’t think about Bucky going off to war without him. He couldn’t, or he’d start to worry and never stop. But at night, Bucky wasn’t the only one checking a pulse anymore.

To keep himself busy, Steve gave himself projects. His first was a present for Bucky- a sketchbook filled with his best work depicting their life. Their house, their old apartment, the park, the baseball stadium, their old school. Their family, friends, and neighbors. Everything that Steve loved about America, about New York, was represented in that book. And on the day Bucky left for basic, he gave it to him.

 

After Bucky went for training, Steve tried to enlist three more times. Each time, they turned him away. They called it saving his life, but to Steve it felt more like they were crushing it. After the fourth rejection, he went to the cinema to get away, hoping to find some distraction.

At the movies, some jerk kept mouthing off, ignoring the news reel about the war effort. Steve could see people who were obviously distressed by the guy’s actions, but he didn’t stop. So Steve did what he always did, and told him off. He found himself dragged out back into an alley, where the punk started in on him. Steve knew from the first punch he was in trouble. The guy was strong, but Steve refused to give up. And then, miraculously, Bucky showed up.

“Sometimes, I think you like getting punched.” For a greeting, it sucked. But that was typical Bucky.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve told him, taking stock of his injuries. Not as bad as it could have been, just a split lip and… a lot of bruises. Bucky picked up his rejection form from where it had fallen from his pocket.

“How many times is this?” Bucky asked, disapproval plain. Steve tuned out the lecture, he’d heard it before. Then he turned, and really looked at Bucky.

The first thing Steve noticed was the uniform. The last couple times Bucky had visited, he’d shown up in civilian clothes. That he was in uniform now meant that what they had expected had finally come to pass. Still, he had to ask.

“You get your orders?”

Bucky grinned at him. “The 107th, Sargent James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That was… sudden. He’d thought knowing a date would make Bucky leaving easier. Turned out, it just made it seem more real.

“I should be going,” Steve told him, the shame a sucker-punch on top of the pain of separation. Bucky looked at him seriously for a second, and he didn’t need to say anything else. Steve knew what he was thinking. And then his face broke into a smile, and he wrapped an arm around him.

“Come on, man. It’s my last night. We’ve got to get you cleaned up.”

“Why, where are we going?” Steve asked, suspicious, and Bucky handed him a newspaper open to an advertisement for the World Exposition of Tomorrow.

“The future.”

 

It turned out to be a double date. They hadn’t done one of those in years, but it seemed that with Bucky leaving, he was bent on fixing Steve up with a girl so he wouldn’t be alone. Steve appreciated the sentiment, but, like always, he was invisible next to Bucky. The girl who was supposed to be his date, Jessica, was more interested in staring at the sergeant. Bucky’s date, Lisa, was his usual type- pretty and bubbly, but not into actual deep conversation. Steve watched them flirt, and wished they could just go home. This was the last time he was going to see Bucky for who knew how long. It would have been nice to have spent it together, without the distractions.

They watched a man named Stark showing off his latest invention- a car that could float. Steve was impressed, until the things making it float exploded in a cascade of sparks. He looked around to see what they could go look at next, and spotted a recruitment station. A sudden impulse took him, and he slipped away. It was a fair. Maybe he’d get lucky.

Inside the entrance, there was one of those mirror attractions, the kind where it reflected your face in an image so you looked like someone else. This one put your face on the body of a soldier. A man was trying it out when Steve walked in, but was hauled away by his girlfriend. Steve stepped up to try. Only the top half of his head was reflected.

“Come on, you’re kind of missing the point of a double date,” Bucky said from behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re taking the girls dancing.”

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up to you.” Steve didn’t want to sit through two hours of watching Bucky dance. He wanted to join up, to be able to join Bucky overseas. To protect him in whatever small way he could, and fight for their country and all they both believed in.

“You really goanna do this again?” Bucky asked, and Steve knew what he was thinking. It didn’t matter.

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m goanna try my luck.”

“As who? Steve from Ohio?” Bucky was angry. Steve understood, but he wished he could get a little support from his friend. Bucky had always supported him before, but this… Bucky was afraid to lose Steve. “They’ll catch you. Worse, they’ll actually take you.”

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this,” Steve started, but was cut off.

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war!”

“I know it’s a war-” Steve tried again, but Bucky wasn’t listening.

“Why are you so keen to fight? There’s so many important jobs!”

“What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?” Steve broke in, trying to calm his friend before he went into a full-blown lecture.

“Yes!” Bucky wanted Steve safe. Too bad. Steve didn’t want safe.

“I’m not going to work in a factory, Bucky. Bucky!” He wanted Bucky to listen. “Come on. There are men laying down their lives.” He didn’t say ‘you’re one of them.’ “I got no right to do any less than them, that’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

“Right. ‘Cause you’ve got nothing to prove.” Bucky thought this was about being small, about always being the weak one. But it wasn’t. Not really. Steve stared at Bucky, willing him to get it.

“Hey, Serge!” One of the girls called, distracting Bucky. “Are we going dancing?”

“Yes we are!” Bucky turned to the girls, making his decision. Steve accepted it. Bucky wasn’t going to understand.

He looked back at Steve, already moving away. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I?” Steve asked, feeling the loss of his presence keenly. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” He didn’t want their last memory of each other for a while to be one of a fight. Bucky seemed to want the same, because he came back, embracing Steve in a hug.

“You’re a punk,” he said, just like always.

“Jerk,” Steve shot back. But when they pulled apart, he had to say it- “Be careful.” Bucky just looked at him. Careful wasn’t possible where he was going. “Don’t win the war ‘till I get there!” Steve ordered. Bucky gave him his best salute, and walked away. Steve tried not to feel like part of him was missing.

 

The exam room was about the same as every other Steve had been in so far. A doctor was preparing to examine him when a nurse came in and whispered in his ear. He left, telling Steve to wait, and Steve got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach- one that intensified when an MP entered.

And then the MP was dismissed, but the man who entered didn’t look like he was there to arrest Steve for lying on his enlistment form.

“So. You want to go overseas. Kill some Nazis.”

“Excuse me?” Steve was confused.

The man shook his hand and introduced himself as Doctor Abraham Erskine, of the Strategic Scientific Reserve- something Steve hadn’t heard of, but it sounded important.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve told him, though he probably already knew that from the file. “Where are you from?” He had to ask. The accent sounded… almost German.

“Queens.” Erskine answered, giving his address. “But before that, Germany. This troubles you?” He looked at Steve, who shook his head. It didn’t matter where he was from. If he was on their side, that was good enough for Steve.

“Where are you from, Mr. Rogers?” the doctor asked, opening the file. Steve started to worry again, as he listed cities Steve had put down on previous, failed, enlistment attempts.

“That might not be the right file,” Steve tried, a hollow protest, one that wouldn’t win him much if Erskine _was_ there to arrest him. But he wasn’t.

“No, no, it’s not the exams I’m interested in. It’s the five tries. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you want to kill Nazis?”

“Is this a test?” Steve asked, because it kind of felt like a test.

“Yes,” Erskine answered, but didn’t say anything else.

Steve thought about his answer. How to explain to Erskine something even Bucky, who knew Steve best, couldn’t understand. It might not be possible. But he had to try.

“I don’t wanna kill anyone. I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

“Well. There are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is a little guy.” Erskine’s face was kind, which took the sting out of the phrase ‘little guy’. “I can offer you a chance. Only a chance.” He pulled aside the curtain, exiting the cubicle.

“I’ll take it!” Steve followed, heart in his throat.

“Good. So, where is the little guy from? Actually?”

“Brooklyn,” Steve told him, feeling the thump the stamp made as Erskine marked his enlistment form.

“Congratulations, soldier.”

Steve opened the folder, afraid of what he was going to see. Erskine had said he’d give him a chance, but…

It was marked 1A. Steve was going to war.

 


End file.
